We'll Be Just Fine
by lindsayandhalstead
Summary: A two-shot that follows the events of 3x17. Rated M for chapter 2. "Let's go home," he murmurs after the heart-wrenching sobs subside, and even though he does not specify, she understands that home is wherever she is.
1. We'll Be Just Fine

**A/N: A two-shot that follows 3x17. I hope you like it, and if you do - let me know!**

* * *

She's leaning on the door frame, waiting.

Her body is trembling with helplessness. There are red half-circles from where her nails dug in her palms and there is a knot in her throat. Because she knows there is nothing to do but wait. She knows he's alive, she's gotten a text, and she's listened to the scanner. He's not the one that got hurt. But seeing him walk through the door with Al causes her to let out a breath she didn't know she's been holding.

He's withdrawn and she cannot begin to know everything that's going on inside his head. She comes to meet him halfway. Her arms reach out, knowing that Al won't care about her small display of concern. Al promptly excuses himself, and Jay lets her hold him for a moment. She indulges herself with breathing in the familiar scent of him, pressing her face against him so she can feel his warmth.

"Erin, I'm okay." He takes a step back, and it's a step too far. It's selfish of her, she knows, but she wishes she could hold on for just a while longer. When he asks about Terry, she shakes her head in response. No news yet.

She keeps her hand on his chest, where she can feel the hard beating of his heart, reminding her that this time, he got lucky. But despite of the fact he's standing right there, he is sun miles away from her. She looks at him and wants to wipe off the blood off of his face, his jacket, because blood on him even if not his makes her blood run cold with sheer fear. But this isn't about her. So she swallows her fear and lays a supportive hand on his back, walking him upstairs.

He's walking towards Voight's office and she pulls him back slightly. "Jay," she murmurs quietly, so nobody but them hears. "Whatever you need." He nods gratefully and goes to face the wolves. Her thoughts of the worst case scenario get interrupted by Mouse interrogating her, because Jay is not there anymore to answer his questions. She sighs and buries herself in work.

* * *

She walks towards him across the hallway. Her eyes dart briefly to his hand, the on that Brianna is currently holding. He hasn't done anything wrong, but they both drop the hands when she comes.

She pretends it didn't hurt to see him hold hands with another woman. He pretends he didn't see the look on her face when she saw them. They're both good at it.

"Jay, we've got something of the gun."

She watches him nod, and then tell Brianna that she should stay low for a while and she nods in agreement. Erin watches her walk away, the perfect curls bouncing around her. She can't quite help it, but she reminds her of one of her old classmates. It must be the insecurities she brings out in her, the ones she thought had long been forgotten.

She sighs, and once more, decides to bury herself in work.

* * *

She's next to him all day, making sure he actually doesn't break something, or someone. He's tense. He has a good reason of course, but she's not used to him being like that: unsettled, and on the edge.

He manages to get through the questioning without breaking any bones. She decides to be grateful for the little things.

And it's exactly the little things that get him through the day. It's the fresh cup of coffee she pushes into his hands and he drinks in a volatile attempt to stop the cold spreading inside of him. It's her hand touching his gently, before they walk back upstairs. It's the look she gives to Voight when he's giving him a hard time.

It's her.

* * *

He's getting ready for the funeral when she shows up. He's about to ask what she's doing there, but she's wearing all black, and he understands.

He looks so different than she is used to in his military uniform, still handsome, but somehow less like the Jay she knows. He presses a light kiss on her temple, pulling her into an unexpected embrace before they leave together, reminding her, that even though he looks different, he is still her Jay.

She loves him. Despite the fact that she has never been able to tell him, she does love him.

She feels his pain as if it were her own and her heart breaks for him over and over, when she watches him sit through another funeral. She's glad he let her be there, to make at least that part of the process a little bit easier.

The memory of Nadia's funeral invades her mind. Jay standing next to her the whole time, with Hank right on the other side. He slid his hand into hers during the ceremony, not caring if Voight noticed. She remembers leaning against him, letting him carry half of her weight, because she was incapable of doing it herself. She remembers he stayed over that night, because she couldn't bear to be alone, and he held her as she cried herself to sleep.

Now it's time for her fingers to wrap around his, and she's glad when he squeezes her hand gratefully in reply.

* * *

He's getting a drink with Mouse, so she sneaks back to the precinct. Hank said that if she catches up on paperwork, he doesn't mind her taking a day or two off work. She knows he's worried about Jay. He doesn't have to tell her. Years of living together are enough for her to know.

She heads for the stairs, but she thinks she hears a sound coming out of the locker room.

He's on the floor, crying. She knows this pose. How many times had she curled herself against the wall after Nadia died? The pain radiates around him and for a second she doesn't know what to do. She takes a step closer and his eyes shoot up to her, trying to cover the signs of crying.

She shakes her head in reply. "Don't. I'm here. Not just for the pretty stuff." She needs him to know that he doesn't need to hide from her. He has seen her more vulnerable than anyone else and he stayed against all odds.

She falls down next to him on her knees, her arms going around him as his chest shakes with sobs.

"It's not fair."

She knows.

Her hands caressing his hair are tender, repetitive, calming. She doesn't know how long they sit there, on the floor, and she doesn't care. She would sit there two weeks straight if it made him feel better. She feels helpless, because there is nothing she can do, to take this pain away, or even lessen it.

"Let's go home," he murmurs after the heart-wrenching sobs subside, and even though he does not specify, she understands that home is wherever she is.

* * *

Sleep ends up being the best medicine.

He sleeps for the entire night and half of the day.

Erin blackmails Hank into two days off, despite that fact she wasn't able to catch up on paperwork, so she revels in lying next to him, catching up on sleep too. It means she's there when the bad dreams come. It means she's there to make them go away.

She can't do anything about his loss, even though she feels it in her heart. She can't do anything about his pain, no matter how hard she wants to. But she can lay here, next to him, making sure he knows he doesn't have to go through it alone.

* * *

He wakes to the feeling of pressure on his torso. Her body is snuggled against his, and her head is resting on his chest. At some point, he must have wrapped his arm around her, because that's where it is, right where it belongs.

Her fingers are tracing light patterns onto his bare chest, and by the looks of it, she hasn't realized he's awake yet. He turns his head slowly, to look at her and she smiles.

"Did I wake you?"

"No. After that dream, I slept great," he admits. "What are those patterns?"

"It's nothing, really," she pauses, but continues when he looks at her expectantly. "I wanted you to feel that you're here with me, and not wherever your dream was taking you."

"It worked," he murmurs and pulls her closer. He nuzzles into her neck, enjoying the warmth and the intimacy of the gesture.

"You're going to be alright. We'll be fine," she murmurs with assurance in her voice.

"I know." He presses a light kiss on her side.

There was a time where something like this would really throw him off balance. He can easily remember how lost he felt after he came home and the rest of his unit didn't. His compass was broken then, and he had no north, no way to find home.

But he focuses on the feel of her soothing hands on his back, and he knows that despite loss, his life would go on. He doesn't need a compass, because her heart will always guide him right where he needs to be.


	2. A Sunday Kind of Love

**A/N: Just a little Sunday smut, to finish off the post 3x17 angst.**

 **Title for this chapter comes from the song by Etta James, you should absolutely check it out.  
**

 **A little selfish self-promo, me and my girl justkillingtimewhileiwait are doing a series of Domestic Linstead prompts and you should totally check them out on her profile.  
**

* * *

It's one of the few Sunday's they have off. Sure, they get an occasional weekend here and then, where the caseload is low and they're all caught up on paperwork, but it doesn't happen often. Criminals don't rest, even on a Sunday.

But this one is calm and as peaceful as it can be, after the events of past week, when Jay lost a friend and was almost shot himself. It has been a tough couple of days to say the least.

For the first time in a while, Erin is the first one to wake up. She listens to the slow thumping of rain on glass, and the distant noise of traffic making its way through an open window. She hears sirens go by, recognizing them as the fire department. That stirs Jay out of the deep slumber, and she revels in watching him for those last couple of seconds before he wakes up. His eyes meet hers, watching her as she props herself on her elbow and watches him. He smiles at her and she smiles back. She stretches, settling herself next to him, while she lets the feeling of not having to do anything, or go anywhere, take over.

"Hi," she murmurs and he replies with a lazy kiss, just lips brushing lips. His move slowly over hers as a way of greeting someone you wake up next to, as a habit. He moves to go to the bathroom, and she instantly misses his presence in bed. She's not ashamed to admit that this has become a sort of routine for them on Sundays off. At this point, not even coffee is enough to tempt her out of the still warm bed.

He comes back to bed and reaches for his t-shirt, his expression a bit more serious now, but she sees his intention and snatches it first. She shakes her head as a way of saying _no_ , and he chuckles lightly. This sort of laughter feels like music to her ears, after the breakdown she has witnessed in the locker room just last week.

"Give me my shirt."

"Come and get it," she smirks, but the smirk soon disappears from her lips as he pins her down to bed, his face just inches from hers. She pauses and waits for his reaction. His lips touch hers again, but this time it's not lazy; it's deep, torturous. The kind of kiss that's meant to pleasure. And it does.

Her hand releases his shirt, and her arms wrap around his torso, bringing him closer. His hands slide under the fabric of an old shirt she wears to sleep, tracing fingers up the warm skin underneath. Her legs wrap around his waist, and she grinds herself against his growing erection, making him groan. She feels the muscles on his back tense at that, and enjoys knowing she has the power to do that. Lowering his head, he glides his lips over her shoulder, down the line of her throat. His teeth graze her skin gently at the point of her pulse.

This time it's slow, quiet and achingly tender. It touches her in places she didn't know she could be touched. Doesn't know if she wants to be. But he needs this; he needs her. So she gives herself to him.

He pulls her shirt up and glides his lips over the newly exposed flesh, making her sigh in pleasure, then watches her eyes before she closes them. The way the morning light plays in them makes his heart ache, but in a good way.

His lips roam the softness of her skin, making her curl her toes into the mattress, her back arching again him, to give him better access. She's burning up from the inside out, and she only wants more; more of his hands; more of his mouth. They roll on the bed together to get rid of underwear and then they slide together naked, as flesh begins to slick from heat and passion.

He slips his hand between her thighs and she jerks, her breath catching. She's already hot and wet. Her fingers clutch to him desperately as he begins his slow torturous strokes that make her breath short and harsh. Her body quakes under his skilled hands and she melts against him as she comes for the first time. She thinks she sees stars behind her closed eyelids. His mouth on hers swallows the throaty moan she lets out.

But he needs more. So much more.

She rolls them over, grinning at his sudden surprise. She presses kisses down his chest and before he realizes what she's up to, she makes her way down. She looks up and he groans in anticipation. Her hands settle at his hips, gripping them as her nails dig in. Her lips form a smirk and her lips wrap around him. Closing his eyes, a groan escapes him. She feels powerful. She feels in control. And it feels so intimate, how her lips swell, and how their eyes meet mere seconds before he comes with a wild groan.

She has never done that before she met Jay. It was one of their firsts. But the simple act of giving him pleasure without expecting anything in return was so appealing. It still is, especially, because he enjoys returning the favour.

Before she knows it, he has reversed their position again, grinning wickedly at her. She feels him at her entrance, and when he finally slides into her, she cries out. His pace doesn't alter when he moves inside her. It's shattering. It builds up arousal with a patience that's close to brutal.

She can see nothing but his face, feel nothing but that glorious friction. Then comes the gradual, delicious, aching build of an orgasm. Her hands slide bonelessly off his shoulders, and for minutes there is only the sound of their breathing in the room. It takes a while until the world stops spinning and even then she feels her lips form a lazy smile.

"I don't know about you," she grins, "but I could sure use a shower."

He shakes his head at her and follows her to the bathroom. "I might need a minute."

After the shower, it's time for breakfast.

Erin was surprised to find out, pretty soon into their relationship, that Jay actually knows how to cook. She was never at home in the kitchen. Sure, she learned to prepare enough things, so she didn't starve, or eat Kraft's Mac & Cheese seven days a week (though let's be honest, she totally could). She knows how to grill a steak, which is entirely Voight's fault, but that's about it. She gazes at her boyfriend, preparing the ingredients for her favourite type of omelettes.

He really does make an astoundingly hot house husband, she thinks to herself, as she inhales the delicious smell of food. He's pulled on some sweat pants that are resting pretty low on his hips and he conveniently forgot to pull on a shirt. Not that she minds. She's thinking of putting up house rules, no shirts allowed. Ever. At least not for him.

Her mouth waters and she's not sure whether it's from the smell of food or the sight of him. He sets a plate in front of her and joins her while she stuffs her mouth with food. When he throws a weird look at her she shrugs unapologetically. "I had double exercise this morning." Her grin makes him chuckle, and then he realizes, he's actually pretty hungry as well.

"By the way, this is delicious."

"I know, that's why you keep me around," he chuckles and she hits him playfully, which again ends up in a series of hot kisses.

When she manages to disentangle herself from him she cleans up. It's only fair, because he cooked and besides, she wants them to be equal partners. She hums a familiar tune and it occurs to her that she hasn't been this happy in a long time. There is just one thing that's still on her mind. A thing she didn't want to bring up the past week, because she wanted to give Jay his space and time. She still throws worried glances at him when she thinks he's not looking, but he seems better now, so she might as well get it off her chest.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything."

She focuses on the plate she's scrubbing and hopes he didn't see the slight blush spreading over her cheeks. "I was just wondering what the deal was with that boss of yours. Brianna? Her husband made some pretty snarky comments when we arrested him."

He smirks, because oh, she's so cute when she's all jealous like that. "I was wondering when you were going to bring that up," he teases. "Look, like I've already told Voight, there is nothing between me and her. She made a couple of passes, I made sure she knew I was with someone and that was it."

She is surprised at the warmth that spreads over her when he says _with someone._

"Bottom point is, she was interested, and I was not," he assures, coming to stand next to her behind the counter. His arms wrap around her hips, pulling her closer. "I'm with you. I don't need anyone else."

She nods. "Me too." He presses a gentle kiss on her temple when she frowns all of the sudden. "Wait, did you say Voight asked you about her?"

Jay silently curses himself and nods in response. "He asked me if I was sleeping with her."

"Unbelievable," she rants, and smacks him when he laughs at her.

"Hey!" He exclaims, throwing her tiny body over his shoulder.

"Jay! No, let me down," she screams between giggles as he attempts to get them to the bedroom, but it just so happens they don't make it past the couch. Not that he minds, he has some very fond memories of this couch.

And by the looks of it, he's about to have more.


End file.
